Klaine OneShots
by cupcakesandchaos
Summary: Klaine-related one-shots. My first ever. Some are just Blaine, others just Kurt, while some will be both. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** So this is my first one-shot ever. I wrote it because I'm in a terrible mood and I feel exactly the way Blaine does in it. So if it's any good, let me know. If not, well I'll keep putting my one-shots here anyways because it actually feels kinda nice to just get a short burst of writing out there and get the feelings off your chest. Hope you enjoy!

I don't own Glee or any of its respective characters.

**Characters**: Blaine Anderson, Jeremiah, aka Gap Guy

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Blaine tells Jeremiah he loves him, but does he really and is it enough?

**Word Count**: 420

* * *

"Wh-what?"

He'd seen that look in someone's eyes before. At best it could be described as bewilderment, at worst absolute fear. It was always there when he murmured the same three words, the little sentiment that he'd been waiting to hear in return his whole life.

"I said I love you," he murmured.

Jeremiah rolled away from him and off the bed, hastily shoving the tails of his button-up shirt into his pants, shaking his head to either rid himself of unwanted feelings or to reject Blaine's pathetic excuse for love. "No, you really don't."

Blaine frowned. "I think I know when I love someone, Jeremiah."

Jeremiah paused, looking at Blaine like he'd sprouted ears and a matching tail. "You're young, kid. You-" He shook his head again. "This ain't love. Don't fool yourself. A half hour of swapping sweat and spit between dirty sheets ain't love."

Anger boiled up inside of him, causing him to sit up and let the sheets pool around his waist. "Well fuck you, Jeremiah. It's the closest thing I have. Ever think of that?"

He was rewarded with an eye roll as Jeremiah bent to retrieve his shoes, shoving his feet in them before reaching out for his jacket. Blaine began to panic, afraid that he'd pushed yet another person away. He was prepared to beg if he had to. "Jeremiah, wait-" He leaned forward, grabbing the man's shirt with his fingers. "I'm sorry." And he was, just not for saying it.

Jeremiah shook his head again, prying his shirt from Blaine's grip. "I have to go. Look, I'll- I'll see you later," he amended, pushing a hand through his hair. "This is just- I'll see you later."

Blaine was left in the silence and stared down at the blankets like he wished they would come alive and swallow him whole. His cheek still stung from where Jeremiah had slapped him earlier in the day, his back still aching from the wall he'd been slammed into. No, maybe this wasn't love. But between the fights and the tears, the soothing touches in the middle of the night was the closest thing he had in this dirty, dingy apartment, in this too-big town for a not-significant-enough boy.

Maybe it wasn't love and maybe it was screwed up and maybe it would get him killed one day, but it was all he had. Sighing and laying back down, Blaine thought that maybe it could be enough. But that was a hell of a lot of maybes.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: So a friend of mine was giving me some Klaine-related prompts and wanted to see how Blaine would react to these different scenarios. The first three are rated M, while the last one is just sad.

* * *

**Prompt**:_ Blaine opens the door, and Kurt's standing there with his bedroom eyes. Blaine's all sleepy and "Kurt, what?" and Kurt undoes the belt and the buttons slowly, and opens the jacket. He's blushing a little, and he looks down at the floor before looking back up at Blaine and biting his lip._

**Reaction**: "Holy sweet mother of god." Blaine reaches for Kurt's wrist, afraid for the briefest of seconds that when he goes to clasp his fingers around the bony flesh, all he'll grasp at is thin air. He can't actually believe that Kurt Hummel, his lover and fiance, is standing in front of him clad in thigh-high Doc Martens he never knew existed, in the kinkiest jacket he'd ever seen, in the hall outside his hotel room in LA, the very last place he'd expected Kurt to be. But when he grabs Kurt's wrist, it's real and it's tangible and his skin is flushed and hot and all Blaine can think to do is yank him inside, shut the door, and slam him up against it. He went from tired to horny in three seconds flat, a feat that he has only managed to accomplish when Kurt is involved. Suddenly his mouth and his hands are all over Kurt, kissing him, tasting him, memorizing the lines of his flesh like he's forgotten them, like he's a starving artist who's found the gold. He needs Kurt with a burning hunger that has been lit inside of him for days, a fire that has flared and is now consuming him as he comes to fully comprehend that Kurt is really in his arms, hard and hot for Blaine and Blaine alone. And there is no greater satisfaction in the world than knowing that all of this belongs to him.

* * *

**Prompt**:_ Blaine's showering at the gym, he turns around, and Kurt is standing there with the most self-satisfied, horny grin on his face. He's just come from painting, so he's not wearing nice clothes._

**Reaction**: He'd thought the angelic voice was a ghost of a memory or somehow a trick of the water rebounding off the tiles around him. But when he turned, Kurt was really there, standing before him in the flesh… and in the sloppiest, messiest clothes Blaine had ever seen him wear. He'd always said Kurt would look hot even in dishrags but he'd never realized that his fiance even owned anything of the sort. For some unknown reason, it set Blaine off, making him growl as his cock hardened at an impossible speed. Everything about Kurt screamed 'disheveled', like he was begging to be fucked and fucked hard. For just a brief moment, Blaine was reminded of a distant time and place where coveralls and grease were involved and that thought alone had Blaine reaching for his fiance and pinning him to the wet shower wall, despite whatever protests the taller boy might have. "It's one thing if you want to visit me at the gym. But when you come in here looking like that with that smug grin on your face, you're just begging to be fucked." He flipped Kurt around, giving his fiance barely any time to react as he yanked the paint-splattered jeans down and the loose-fitting shirt off and over his head. "If you make a sound, I'll stop. That's your punishment. Understand?"

* * *

**Prompt**:_ They're at a fancy charity ball, and Kurt is wearing a kilt. He's just finished talking to someone about it, telling them that it follows traditional highlander wear. He leans over and whispers in Blaine's ear, "That means I'm not wearing any underwear." And then he gets called over by somebody else and flounces off. The kilt lifts up just a little, and Blaine can see the smooth white skin of his thighs, and the beginning of the curve of his ass._

**Reaction**: Blaine knew what traditional highlander wear meant. He knew and yet he gasped anyways when Kurt clarified, like somehow hearing it from his fiance made it clearer in his head. And it certainly was, the gasp being accompanied by the greatest mental image Blaine's head had ever formed. Just as he was about to curse his fiance silently for doing such a thing to him, he was silenced by the slightest of movements, something that would have been innocent with anyone but Kurt Hummel. Kurt flounced, the kilt shifted, and Blaine's entire thought process was shut down until he was acting on impulse and basic instinct alone. "You can talk later," he growls into Kurt's ear, taking the countertenor by the arm and leading him away from the ballroom, even when he wasn't sure where his feet were really taking him. He remembered there was a private bathroom just outside the hall and seeing as it was vacant and everyone was otherwise occupied in the other room, he drug Kurt inside, shut and locked the door, and forced his fiance to bend over, hands on the closed seat of the toilet while the kilt went up and Blaine went down. He'd always loved to admire Kurt's backside from this level, loved to run his hands over the globes of his ass, tan skin cupping milky white perfection. "I want to taste you," he murmured, shifting forward so that his knees pressed between Kurt's legs and eased him open, spreading the boy wider for Blaine's viewing pleasure. Without warning, he rocked forward, the tip of his tongue finding the tight ring of muscles and giving it a sensual lick, a teasing preview of what was to come. "You're going to scream my name when I'm done with you."

* * *

**Prompt**: _Blaine is away in LA, rehearsing for his role in Hairspray, and he smells Kurt while he's on stage._

**Reaction**: He knows that smell. He knows it better than he knows that there are six letters in his first name, four in his middle, and eight in his last. That's Kurt's smell, the smell that both simultaneously wakes up his soul and serves as a lullaby to entice him to sleep. He doesn't understand what it's doing here, on a stage in LA as he's rehearsing for Hairspray, one of the biggest musical broadway shows of all time but then, it's not that uncommon of a smell, really. It's bottled and packaged and thousands of men across the country smell just like it. But for Blaine, it has always been uniquely Kurt. For some reason this makes him more homesick than anything, even more than the lovely texts from Kurt he wakes up to every morning or the sound of Kurt's voice when he tells him he loves him just before he goes to sleep every night. It hurts, Blaine thinks, makes his soul, his heart, his brain ache. He longs for Kurt, longs to have him in his arms again, and he thinks that maybe this isn't worth it anymore. Despite being incredibly honored to have been asked to play Link Larkin, a coveted role in broadway, Blaine thinks nothing is worth having to live without Kurt. He briefly entertains the idea of hopping on a plane, going home to New York, to Kurt, but he knows that Kurt would be disappointed in him for giving up so easily just because he missed him. Kurt wouldn't want him to walk away from this. And at this point, that's the only thing that keeps Blaine going.


End file.
